Blue Abstractions

Empty House

2011-07-10T14:49:00.000-07:00

I am no longer here. If you'd like to follow me elsewhere, send an email to the address mentioned in "About."

Birthday Cookies

2011-01-29T17:09:00.000-08:00

We are cleaning in preparation for a birthday party. Plum, having eaten her fortune cookie, asks me to help her read the "instructions:"

"Your road to glory will be rocky, but fulfilling."

"Well of course," I tell C. "With a name like [Plum]*, it's gotta be. She's gotta usurp somebody. Too young for Egypt, though she couldn't do much worse. It'd be all, 'Okay, cookies for everybody, and no hitting!'"

Mau takes advantage of his position on the coffee table and gives my butt a friendly head bump.

*Plum's real name has several meanings, one of them being 'usurper'.

Thank You

2011-01-29T09:17:00.000-08:00

Thank you for being a woman with a voice, when I was young and needed to find my own.
Thank you for being a woman with boundaries, when I was young and needed to set and respect my own.
Thank you for showing me how to cut ties that needed cutting.
Thank you for introducing me to a wider world.
Thank you from the depths of my heart for being the means of meeting my husband, partner, best friend, love, reason.
Thank you for the many years of friendship and encouragement.
Thank you most sincerely for your final lesson. It will serve me well through my life.

May you know happiness and the root of happiness.

Cat Bliss

2011-01-27T18:02:00.000-08:00

He leans against me with all his little might, head thrown back, pink tongue extended, throat vibrating.

(a river of stones)

Tender Kisses to Fine Hair

2011-01-25T13:07:00.000-08:00

Ill and tired, she wails in my arms. I press her hot body against my chest and rock silently.

(a river of stones)

Endure

2011-01-25T09:13:00.000-08:00

We lie yin-yang, warm hands and eyes connected. He waits patiently. Ocean waves pound in the distance. My eyes drift shut.

(a river of stones)

Stones by the Wayside

2011-01-23T09:25:00.000-08:00

Stones are being collected, then let go unpolished and unpublished.

It was my intention to publish a daily stone, but three large fires popped up shortly after the beginning of the month. (Nothing bad, just things that require hours of attention and effort each day.)

I'll leave the "river of stones" badge up to remind me to continue collecting stones this month, because that was the point of this for me: to come back to mindfulness.

(a river of stones)

the sun sets violently tonight

2011-01-16T17:36:00.000-08:00

the sun sets violently tonight,
spilling colors like wine across the sky

(a river of stones)

Shot Across The Bow

2011-01-07T23:35:00.000-08:00

A knife of pain cuts breath short. Pull muscles in, move so carefully, hold yourself together.

(a river of stones)

Response

2011-01-06T18:55:00.000-08:00

I turn, knowing. She is watching me. I smile, and miniature features transform to joy: brows lift, eyes widen, mouth laughs silently, body stiffens in thrill.

(a river of stones)

Carrying Groceries In

2011-01-05T19:58:00.000-08:00

The air is crisp, lamp-lit. Listen to the city-silence, the metal traffic river in the distance. Let the rest fade away. Breathe.

Panic. Where the hell did Plum go?

(a river of stones)

32 Seconds Present

2011-01-04T18:44:00.000-08:00

Ssnick. Ssnick. Ssnick. Cool zucchini rounds fall away from the knife.

(a river of stones)

Shower

2011-01-03T18:03:00.000-08:00

Hot water, thick steam, cold air: fifteen minutes alone.

(a river of stones)

Tandem Pressures

2011-01-02T19:18:00.000-08:00

A purring cat settles on my chest, congenial company for anxiety. Fur caresses my left cheek, ear.

(a river of stones)

Buttons

2011-01-01T10:37:00.000-08:00

A small voice whispers me out of sleep: it is my turn to fasten a button.

(A River of Stones)

Summer 2009

2009-07-18T13:11:00.000-07:00

Mark summer 2009 as the point at which I accepted the pain wasn't going to go away. We replaced our manual car with an automatic, I began physical therapy, our dream house morphed to a single level, and I spent three days in a row (and counting, to be perfectly honest) crying and feeling sorry for myself. And angry. Big, giant angry.

Mark summer 2009 as the point at which I discontinued the postpartum anti-depressants that had initially kept me alive, but which sucked me dry of emotion and wanting and energy. Mark it as the season I surfaced, all raw and atrophied, and did what was needed.

Sacroiliac Joint Dysfunction, Osteitis Pubis (both due to hypermobility).

Words (Excerpt From a Letter)

2008-04-22T22:50:00.000-07:00

[Zhoen],

The cats are very subtly hinting at me that I ought to pet them. [Mau] is putting his whiskers in my nose, and [Bear] is beating up on the couch (okay, kneading it, but it all comes to the same thing).

[Plum], oblivious to them, unexpectedly burst into "GAT! GAT! GAT!" today, tapping her cheek with her fist in an approximation of the proper sign. This lasted for a couple of minutes, then disappeared. We may not get another "GAT!" in several months.

There was an earlier outburst of color, even more enthusiastic: full-on yells and squeals of "GWEEN! GWEEEEN! GWEEEN!! GWEEN!" This went on for much of the day, has been building up for three or four days.

She's been tapping her fist on her head and saying "DIE! DIE!" the last couple of days, but I haven't figured that one out, yet. "Boy," maybe? "Happy" has made a comeback, along with "sad".

Suspecting a dirty diaper last night when she didn't fall asleep, I went into the bedroom to change her. I tried to keep it quiet, dark, but she wasn't having any of that. As I finished sealing her up, she was giggling and tickling her own neck. Well, hell, what's a mom to do? I took over for her; laughter ensued.

[Moira]

cat braaaaains

2007-10-15T09:14:00.000-07:00

10/10/07

[Zhoen],

Glad you had a good day at work. I have also had a good day. Very much enjoyed my time with [Plum] today, tonight especially. Earlier, when I put her down for her first nap, she managed to get her arm tangled and stuck in her crib. She was so frightened that she didn't stop crying, regardless of what I did, until I stopped by her wall quilt. Immediately, the crying stopped, and she started pointing objects out for me to name. When I went to put her back down, she kissed me all over my face. That's happened once before. I hadn't even known she could kiss. She doesn't to the messy, slobbery, open-mouthed version typical of babies, either. Lips together, press against my mouth, and make a little smacking noise. I don't kiss her on the mouth; she must be watching me and [C].

An image for you: A little human walking drunkenly, arms reaching out, tongue making clicking noises just like mama; a cat getting up, trotting to another spot, and lying back down only to get back up when the babe finally arrives again. Repeat, repeat, repeat. I may dress her up as a little zombie for Halloween. (The cats do have nice, secure spots when they wish to be left alone, and [Mau] did eventually jump up to the back of the couch, out of her reach.)

Finally got rid of that big, black chair, and put a light up in her room.

Had a dream last night. It felt neutral at the time, but when I woke and reviewed, I found it was deeply positive. Am feeling so much better the last few days.

Very, very soon.

[Moira]

10/11/07

[Moira],

If you don't just go ahead and post that, I shall shake my finger at you.

[Zhoen]

Neener.

Duckling

2007-10-02T14:13:00.001-07:00

Trinity

2007-07-29T13:31:00.000-07:00

[Zhoen],

Woke up screaming "TELL ME!" at 4a. [C] a little disturbed and worried, but the frustration and fear in the dream didn't survive consciousness. Couldn't sleep well for a while afterwards for the pain in my neck and shoulders, until painkillers and heat eventually kicked in. Then there were the party goers at all hours, including after my dramatic awakening, right outside the window. I was tempted to join the conversation from the bed. Neither of us slept well, understandably.

Completely different dream: I never thought of "God" as a female, but apparently she is. Red-haired, matronly. She has a daughter, frail in appearance but sharp and strong beneath. Jesus is a golden labrador retriever, body-wigglingly happy to greet you.

[Moira]

Blossoms, No Fruit

2007-07-18T07:23:00.000-07:00

Post #4 withered and died on the vine. Instead, another's words:

"The basic condition for being happy is our consciousness of being happy. If we are not aware that we are happy, then we are not really happy. When we have a toothache, we know that not having a toothache is a wonderful thing. But when we do not have a toothache, we are still not happy. A non-toothache is very pleasant. There are so many things that are enjoyable, but when we don't practice mindfulness, we don't appreciate them."

-Thich Nhat Hanh, Peace is Every Step

Waking Up

2007-07-14T09:51:00.000-07:00

C opens the bedroom door. Mau comes running in, leaping onto the bed to lick my face and bite my chin in fierce affection.

Coco is eager to ride today, waiting with some impatience as I fumble with the halter. Grooming her is a treat. I can't help but run my hands along her warm, strong body.

The bell chimes. I surface from my project, taking a deep breath. My gaze travels to purple satin curtains alternately billowing and flattening against the window. A mourning dove takes flight, wings whistling prettily.

Bear

2007-07-13T12:15:00.000-07:00

The last three posts attempted didn't make it. In their stead, I offer this as a character sketch of sorts (perhaps even an anti-meme?):

Words

2007-07-08T09:14:00.000-07:00

Words spoken, in approximate chronological sequence:

Cracker (caw-caw! in a tone that conveys the absolute thrill and happiness associated with dry, tasteless bread),
Papa (pa-pa! in a tone that conveys one part awe, three parts excitement, and six parts pure adoration),
Blue (bvvoovv),
Cheeze (jshzh),
Hi (a lilting haa-ai!).

Word perfectly conversant with, but not attempted:

Mama

My amusement grows along with the first list, but I do admit to being a teensy bit impatient.

Well, Yes

2007-06-24T10:38:00.000-07:00

Mau's tongue hangs out blissfully as I scratch behind his ears. I am adding years in my head.

I consider the state of things.

"We're going to grow old together, aren't we?" I ask C, a little bit in awe.

He answers matter-of-factly: "Mm-hmm." I receive a matter-of-fact kiss as punctuation.

Persistence

2007-06-24T10:05:00.000-07:00

A Letter To My Nephew

2007-06-03T12:55:00.000-07:00

Written, at the baby shower, for a sixteen-year-old boy; found while digging in a box of memorabilia, in search of my favorite poems:

1/4/98

Dearest [nephew],

You have just been born.

Until you took us by surprise, our family consisted only of [sister], me, Phineas the big fat street cat, and Ajah, the almost fully grown kitten who still has an annoying habit of sucking on our ears. We live in a modest 2-room apartment in the same complex that [sis] and I grew up in.

Now I wait for [sister] to come home from her two-week stay at mom's with our newest addition to the family: you. Your daddy, [sister's boyfriend], will be moving in next weekend.

I have a feeling our way of life is about to change.

When you read this letter, you'll be 16. (I'll be what, 37? I can't even imagine being that old!) I know how you'll see us, because it wasn't long ago that I was 16. Parents are semi-human beings who like to shout out a lot of orders and make your life in general very miserable, right? (And yes, right now I'm counting myself in as your parent, though perhaps things will change, and as your parent I'd like to apologize in advance for any unforgivable mistakes I'm destined to make...)

My point is that even if we seem old now, we were young once. We had lives...rather melodramatic lives, actually, good for a few stories when you ask. We've had struggles and heartaches. We've lived through more than you'll ever know, and we've learned a lot of lessons from the mistakes we've made.

That's what this letter is for: to tell you of the precious lessons I've learned in life before I forget, and believe me, by the time I'm pushing forty, my memory will be going fast.

Lesson #1: Never underestimate yourself. Always keep your full potential in view and act on it. You know the old cliche: "you can do anything you set your mind to"? It's very true. Don't forget who you are or who you want to be.

Lesson #2: Surround yourself with people who won't let you forget who you are or who you want to be. Don't be alone. Let your friends and family be your safety net. Be their safety net in return.

Lesson #3: Be open-minded. Be nonjudgmental. People often believe what they hold to be true, to be true for everybody, but what you believe now may not necessarily be what you believe in the future. We may all differ in opinions, culture, skin color, or abilities, but there is one thing we have in common: humanity. Never esteem yourself better than another.

Lesson #4: Never betray yourself. Know what your own values and morals are and hold to them. Respect yourself and your actions. Expect others to treat you with respect, just as you would treat them with respect.

Lesson #5: Open your eyes to the world around you. Don't be so focused on yourself that you are blind to everything else. See a person in need, and assist that person. Listen to politics, and choose a side. Notice a sunset. And darling, this is important: don't step on an ant just because it's there. Life, at any level, is an amazing thing.

Cactus Garden

2007-05-29T20:18:00.000-07:00

(As with most things, these are much more interesting viewed in detail.)

There's so much going on inside: demolition, reconstruction, entirely new structures. Lots of waste material getting in the way. Disorganization, some confusion. It's an energy drain. Communication lines have been cut. Resources have been diverted and focused.

It's a mess to walk through. It's a mess to look at. It doesn't look like progression at all. It sure as hell doesn't feel like it, most of the time.

I worry about losing connections, losing friends.

---

I am told little Plum looks and acts very much like I did at that age. I'll need to be careful, knowing that. This isn't do-overs.

---

To Lucy, should you ever stop by again: thank you.

Mindfulness

2007-04-18T16:58:00.000-07:00

I sit cross-legged on the floor, quietly and methodically folding Plum's laundry. It stacks up in small, ordered piles around me, sorted according to type, sleeve length, pant comfort, cold weather protection status, and membership in various other miscellaneous categories (towels and washcloths, sheets, bibs, diaper rags, etc.).

Plum sits next to me, quietly and methodically unfolding her laundry in search of interesting buttons or tags.

Despite this and two plows through the whole array, I am ever-so-slightly faster at doing than she is at undoing. Before I am able to put them away in a predetermined, movement-efficient manner, however, I am made to take her by the hands as she drunkenly staggers down the hall to taste the dryer.

Later, as I nurse a headache, Mau perches on my shoulder to groom my nose.

My head has been threatening to explode all day, and all I want to do is snicker.

Glow

2007-04-06T18:51:00.000-07:00

Spring Morning

2007-04-04T10:43:00.000-07:00

Budding

2007-04-02T20:30:00.000-07:00

Another Afternoon at Swami

2007-03-31T16:56:00.000-07:00

We've recently come home from the Meditation Gardens. Plum is down for her nap, but is restless, and sporadically wakes crying. I place my face into my knee and make a violent blatting noise. When I surface, C is looking at me.

"That was a muffled sneeze," I inform him.

"I see."

Ship

2007-03-30T16:32:00.000-07:00

[Zhoen],

Am being ever-so-effusively loved by [Mau], and [C] is home early. We are both, all three, all five, in exceptionally good moods.

There are soap shavings all over the kitchen counter where I have been playing with my latest project: a soap turtle. Okay, well, originally it was a soap oval, but I got bored with that once it was apparent I was figuring out the shallower strokes. I'll likely be carving out a long series of wood turtles, which will march their way through our house. Maybe a turtle footstool. I do believe the turtle will become our family mascot. It only occurred to me when I was debating what I might hang over/near our bed to remind me to smile in the morning. Two days later, I had my answer when I was telling [C] how much I love him. (All the turtles in the world; do you remember that post?)

The ship has not come in. Ship, ship, you know, the one that goes "baaa". Nada. Today's mail will come much later, so perhaps then.

I don't even want to know what that loud bang was. (I retreated to the bedroom when [Plum] insisted on helping me type this email.)

[Plum] and I went out to Swami Meditation Gardens today. I pulled the camera out, but the battery was low, so after only a few pictures I put it away and we just walked around quietly, or stood quietly. The ocean was lovely, calm, blue. From my vantage point up on the cliffs, I could see little birds-as-tiny-balls-of-fluff chasing the waves out and racing them back in.

Right now, I am enjoying cotija cheese and Mexican beer and weekendly ambiance. 'Tis nice.

I'll continue to keep an eye out for you. In the meantime, hope you're having a wonderful day.

[Moira]

Checking the Mail

2007-03-27T20:46:00.000-07:00

dropped skirts

dropped parcels

frog-like

toad-like

encroaching

flaunting

clinging

singed

joined

ambitious

deviant

Project

2007-03-27T20:39:00.000-07:00

At the Wild Animal Park

2007-03-23T17:44:00.000-07:00

Mimicry.

Unwieldy animal; I love elephants.

Twisted, tangled, unraveling, bursting forth.

Poppies outside of the ice cream shop, after.

The details in these photos are quite striking when viewed full size. Click and look.

Inches

2007-03-07T12:34:00.000-08:00

Haul up, fall down. Haul up, fall down. Plum has a good mama, and C has a wife who is still trying, so that is good enough for now.

There is no hell quite like that of postpartum depression. This is, no contest, the most difficult thing I have faced yet.

The Cast

2007-02-25T15:19:00.000-08:00

Moira: Writer, muser, stay-at-home mom. Quiet, self-conscious, passionate, kind, amused. Sees beauty everywhere. Likes listening to music while slightly inebriated, singing at the top of her lungs when she thinks nobody is listening, designing floor plans, going fast, eating new foods. Once broke her arm when falling in a stairwell after a triple shift at the hospital. Heroine of the story.

C: Writer, dreamer, minion to mad science. Brilliant, mild-mannered, eternally optimistic, universally liked. Designs submarines, plot lines, and operating languages. Insatiably interested. Consistently and unconsciously balances items in precarious positions. Likes beer, projects, motorcycles, graph paper, and exploding helicopters. Was once electrocuted; has had tightly curled hair since.

Plum: Gurgler, observer, babbler of noises. Fiercely independent, generally serious, intense and good-natured. Her smiles burst out from nowhere and disappear as suddenly. Likes climbing Mt. Moira, putting her face to the wind, looking in the mirror, and eating pears, sarongs, toys, cords, books, and bits of fluff. Once broke her head.

Mau: Meower, lover, shadower of Moira. Shy, submissive, effusively affectionate with a very few. Dense, agile, lightening-quick. A thug you wouldn't want to meet in a back alley if you weighed less than 20 lbs. Likes leather and feathers. Once spent almost two years in The System with Bear. Real-life name means "hope".

Bear: Sleeper, Loller, Zen practitioner. Ravenously hungry at all times. Likes belly rubs and mealtimes. Alpha cat, sometimes-bully, more frightening thug than Mau. Was once dragged a couple of inches by the tail by Plum; lazily lifted his head for a moment, and remained lying on his back. Real-life name means "patience".

-----
This entry was ever so slightly edited on 2/27/07 to remove potential fire hazards.

Blue Abstractions

2007-02-21T19:04:00.000-08:00

Milestone

2007-02-20T20:28:00.000-08:00

Fall

2007-01-24T14:23:00.000-08:00

A flawed photo, but I'm fond of it.

Inner Dialogue

2007-01-24T13:52:00.000-08:00

Me (optimistic): Y'know, you've always wanted to publish a book. You've got decent writing skills, and it's a subject you have a vested interest in. Why not do it?
Me (pessimistic): I don't write perfectly.
Me: How many people do? That's what editors are for: to clean up all of your sloppy mistakes.
Me: I don't know enough about the topic to write about it.
Me (figurative eyebrows raised): Well, then, you'll have to learn about it, won't you?
Me: I don't feeeel like it.
Me: What do you feel like doing?
Me: Nothing.
Me: Is that healthy?
Me (figurative head hunched into figurative shoulders): mphg
Me: What was that?
Me: no
Me: Does doing nothing make you feel good? Do you enjoy doing nothing?
Me: no
Me: Would you say that wanting to do nothing is indicative of postpartum depression?
Me: yes
Me: Well, then?
Me: I'll think about it.

Undergrowth

2007-01-21T19:31:00.000-08:00

It came as a shock the other day: I am a very different person from who I was even a year ago. Certainly, this is to be expected. Motherhood is no small event. It's just that it came in a form I wasn't entirely expecting: the changes are in my personal motivation, bone-deep, affecting every action and perception.

C had made a card listing his big goals. Realizing I'd lost hold of my own long-term goals, which were tenuous to begin with, I began scribbling on my own card. I came to the middle of my list, interrupted, hanging.

What do I want?

All of my self-conception has been based on what I do. If I could do good, and if I could be accomplished, then I would be worthy of esteem. There is a lifetime of perfectionism and self-criticism behind me. Little earthquakes happen, though, and the landscape changes. There came a year of not-doing, therefore not-being. As empty and frustrated as I felt at the time, something must have been slowly growing, crowding out atrophied driving forces, spreading into the space made for it.

I am surrounded by people taking lesser-known paths. I am forced to look inside of myself when I consider things I might do at home for extra money. It's not that I haven't looked before; it's that I'm looking with real intent. I am open.

What do I want? The question hasn't changed, but the meaning has. It focuses not on doing, but being.

Dream On

2007-01-19T23:15:00.000-08:00

"I dreamt up the most amazing house and apartment interiors last night. It was incredible; you should have seen it: detailed structure, furniture, flooring, kitchens, windows, sculptures... how do I come up with all of that in," snapping, "an instant? If only I could videotape my dreams. I'd have it made. I'd be $@(&ing famous."

"You're an architectural genius. In your dreams."

(Sighing and eye-rolling follow.)

It never ceases to amaze me how vivid, detailed, and beautiful my dreams are, and how unimaginative I feel during the day.

Fractal Recursions

2007-01-19T22:07:00.000-08:00

I'm not generally one for abstract art, but I have a weakness for fractals. A short time ago, I stumbled upon this site, and am now having difficulty deciding which pieces I'd like to purchase and hang. My favorites tend to cluster in the Miscellaneous and Limited Palette galleries. A small selection: 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8.

Direction vs. Destination

2007-01-18T11:07:00.000-08:00

I may not have gone where I intended to go, but I think I have ended up where I intended to be.

-Douglas Adams

Berries

2007-01-18T11:00:00.000-08:00

Beloved

2006-12-21T15:25:00.000-08:00

On Genius

2006-12-20T22:05:00.000-08:00

There is no great genius without some touch of madness.

-Seneca

Tradition

2006-12-19T20:41:00.000-08:00

The kitchen counters are strewn with various baking implements and ingredients. Worries and grief are forgotten as I cheerfully delve into my project: biscotti, the tradition that started several years ago with a much-anticipated visit from a good friend. I bake alone this time, but I remember. I always remember, and smile. This batch is a gift for a new friend.

As I close the oven door, Plum wakes crying. I go to comfort her, and before I can cradle her next to my body, her hands are exploring my face in the dark. They are relentless; she is not interested in rest. Again and again, she finds my nose and tweaks it. Pressure builds in my chest. Tweak. Tweak tweak.

I snicker, manage to contain it, then snicker again.

At one point, she sighs, rests her head against my shoulder, then immediately goes back to work on my nose.

Deciding that she has been plenty comforted, I put her back in the crib and join C in the light to demonstrate, with laughter, exactly what transpired in the bedroom.

Beautiful Thing added: New traditions.

Beautiful Thing added: Tiny hands and nose tweaks in the dark.

To Z: I'll be practicing another new tradition on Christmas this year: orange peels and flame.

Six Weird Things About Me

2006-12-17T22:02:00.000-08:00

1. I dream of food every night. Often, it's laid out in a buffet or being cooked, but sometimes it doesn't play the role of food at all (spaghetti draped over my cat's head, or an egg in my mouth while I'm swimming in a pool).

2. I consider myself a jaded skeptic, while very quietly and incongruently believing in certain things unseen or unknowable. The dissonance of this does bother me.

3. I like to read fantasy/sci-fi. (That's weird, yes?)

4. Blood, gore, and smelly bodily fluids do not have the power to make me lose my appetite. Stress causes me to vomit.

5. I stock food in excessive amounts.

6. I am an INFP. This is supposedly rare.

No tagees, it's tradition. You can take the baton if you like.

Blue in Beta

2006-12-15T22:45:00.000-08:00

In lieu of today's Interesting Link, I present an (incompletely) updated Blue Abstractions, including nifty new labels. A couple of notes: The "Favorites" label is currently empty, and the Links Page hasn't been updated yet.

Leaf

2006-12-14T18:54:00.000-08:00

Life Passes Through Our Fingers

2006-12-14T08:27:00.000-08:00

Life passes through our fingers. Holding on is like holding breath to save it.

-Zhoen

Cat Oreo

2006-12-11T20:36:00.000-08:00

From a letter written to a friend:

I was asleep on the bed when [Mau] jumped up and meowed at me. Of course, I had to pet him, and he settled down near my hips, stretching his head forward and gradually scooting up towards me. When I smiled at him, he got up, moved close enough to lick my chin, and luxuriated in even more scritches. A second smile got him up again; he turned around and plopped down right on my face, muffling my laughter. When I turned my head so that it was only half covered by cat, [Bear] jumped up and sat on my belly and chest, claws very affectionately digging into my neck, and the two of them groomed each other. I can only imagine how it looked: almost all of me covered by cat, with my legs poking out a la the Wicked Witch of the East.

Beautiful Thing added: Two cats curled up together.

Bittersweet

2006-12-07T11:02:00.000-08:00

Mau is strikingly similar to Rufus in size and coloring, though decidedly different in personality. I was struck by such an awful sadness today while running my hand down his back, and he was leaving such a trail of noise and destruction in his enthusiasm to be petted, that I found myself laughing and crying at once.

Meet Mau

2006-12-07T10:28:00.000-08:00

Better pictures of both cats pending.

Meet Bear

2006-12-07T10:12:00.000-08:00

For scale, that car seat holds a toddler up to 40 lbs.

White

2006-12-07T09:38:00.000-08:00

Gone, Too

2006-12-05T16:45:00.000-08:00

Princess Monocle died today.

I am filled with gratitude for what I still have.

Year (Or So) in Review

2006-12-04T00:21:00.000-08:00

June 2005: I miscarry, and grieve through anger at the world and everybody in it.

September - December 2005: I test positive for pregnancy again. At one month, I grow quickly and progressively ill. Within a week, all my classes have been dropped and I am curled up on the couch. Any attempt to stand takes my breath away, speeds my heart, and makes me extremely dizzy, and I fully black out once. I require assistance to move anywhere, and C must take care of my smallest needs. I spend the whole of each day and night breathing through nausea, pain radiating up my back, into my neck, and through my head. Almost everything I swallow comes back up. 13 pounds disappear from my already thin frame. In all, I spend almost three months in bed.

November 2005: My aunt commits suicide by self-immolation. I am left with a difficult choice that breaks my heart, and continues to haunt me. (I won't be explicit here.)

December - January 2005: I begin to recover. A walk around the block is a marathon and a triumph. As I begin to get around, sharp pains appear in my pelvis. My health care providers have no advice. Through online research, I discover I have Symphysis Pubis Dysfunction (SPD), a relatively rare condition associated with pregnancy. It hinders my ability to walk as the pain worsens.

February - March: I test positive for gestational diabetes, but am able to control it through careful diet and monitoring. C loses his job when the company collapses due to lack of funding. He works independently for three different entities and obtains a new job. He continues to care for me as my pain becomes debilitating. I search the web for a new place that will bring us closer to his new workplace. I locate a small condo halfway between the University and Lake Forest, reducing C's drive to 50 miles each way. We move to our new home.

April - May 2006: The pain increases enough to drop me twice, and includes grinding and popping. Soon, I am almost completely unable to walk, bend, lean, or twist. A physical therapist is stumped. She suggests a brace and hands me crutches. I loathe them, but they allow me to get around to some extent. Concerned about my lack of strength, I spend mornings hauling myself up three flights of stairs to get to a cold swimming pool, where I attempt to build physical and mental endurance in preparation for the coming labor.

May 2006: Diabetes brings me to the clinic three times a week to be monitored. There is some concern about the size of the baby. I keep not going into labor.

June 2006: I give birth sans meds. Plum enters the world supergirl-style, arm extended. I fail to stop bleeding, putting the staff in a mild, if contained, panic. The flood slows, of course, and an IV allows me to get up without passing out. I experience my first postpartum panic attack at the hospital.

June - August 2006: Little Plum is colicky, and requires constant soothing. This is often ineffective. The fussing, crying, and screaming seem endless. I am in even more physical pain than before. A month passes before I can carry Plum. Carrying Plum for the first time involves strapping her to me and walking a few feet with crutches, crying the whole time. Postpartum anxiety and depression slam into me from the beginning. I am completely overwhelmed and unable to control the wild swings. When suicidal thoughts turn into suicidal urges, I get myself on meds and wean Plum. Pain slowly decreases, and a visit to the chiropractor gets me off crutches for good.

September 2006: Plum launches herself from C's arms onto cement and fractures her skull. Two hospitals, one ambulance ride, several tests, and an overnight stay later, we return home. She rallies admirably. We hire a part-time nanny, and things begin to even out.

November - December 2006: I grow attached to Plum, and discover a friend in our Mary Poppins. After a routine visit to the veterinarian, both cats become very ill. Rufus, my companion for nearly 8 years, dies. Princess Monocle is discovered to have diabetes, stops eating, and loses her ability to walk more than a few steps. She seems to be hovering on the edge.

----
Why list this? Why the need to look at it all, encompass it? I may understand better, in time.

-----
Edited to include Plum's colic.

Friction is to Inertia

2006-12-03T22:10:00.000-08:00

[Zhoen],

I hope you were feeling better today, that you got some rest, and that you enjoyed yourself. Or at least one of the above.

I'm slowing down, grinding to a halt.

[Princess Monocle] has stopped eating again. Managed to get a few bites into her tonight by feeding her from my hand, but I didn't dare inject her. Will be watching her closely tonight. She has curled up in isolated corners all day. No luck getting a glucose reading; will keep trying.

Plugged a Feliway in, with the hope that it might allay some of her distress.

[Moira]

Riding the Waves

2006-11-29T16:03:00.000-08:00

Princess Monocle is in the hospital. She has eaten poorly the last several days, then not at all today. Her rear legs are suddenly unable to support her.

-----
Update: She will be in the hospital for another 24 hours while they attempt to regulate her blood sugar. I have hope that she will come home to us, and stay a while longer. My brain is very tightly focused on small things: what needs to be cleaned, whether Plum needs a nap, how my plant's roots are taking. I don't think beyond these distractions.

-----
Another update: She is home, and happy to be here. Diabetic neuropathy has reduced her ability to walk; when crossing the wood floor, her rear legs slide out and to the side, and she wobbles severely on carpet. Every few feet, she lies down to rest. However, she is eating, and accepts petting. We'll be giving her insulin injections and a special diet to help control her blood glucose, which I'll be monitoring. I'll also be administering methylcobalamin (a form of B-12) to help improve her nerve function. I hope to have her well regulated and improving before long.

Her presence warms our home.

And Gone

2006-11-27T08:37:00.000-08:00

He died in my arms this morning.

Meet "Rufus"

Gone

2006-11-26T22:31:00.000-08:00

The most frustrating part of all of this is that I cannot hold him one last time without putting him in extreme discomfort. He is already gone; he doesn't respond to me anymore. He looks through me. His tail, constantly in motion, is now still, even when I speak to him.

There has been no improvement. I call the veterinarian early tomorrow morning.

The Wait

2006-11-25T13:56:00.000-08:00

[Zhoen],

[Rufus] is home, a bit more comfortable, though he started gagging when I gently petted him. He's so beat: shaved, bandaged, a bit bloody at the nose. We still don't know how he's going to do; the next few days will tell.

He's apparently had a bad valve, which led to the congestive heart failure. There's secondary liver disease. To top it all off, he has some sort of infection (probably the cold that [Princess Monocle] brought home from the vet). The cold and the stress of visiting the vet are probably what triggered the whole thing. That's my guess, anyway.

So, we wait still.

[moira]

To another friend:

[...] I read that most cats who have advanced to congestive heart failure live a few months at most. This most likely means I have a difficult decision coming up. If this is something that can't really be treated, and if he will only be living in extreme pain and misery only to die shortly anyway, I don't want to prolong that. Not if the choice is between a long, painful death or a quick, merciful death. I wouldn't want it for a friend, and I wouldn't want it for myself. If there's the possibility that he can recover to a degree and live in relative comfort, I'll do what is necessary for that to happen, and be glad to have my little friend a bit longer. [...]

Baby

2006-11-24T07:38:00.000-08:00

I don't think he's going to make it through this. He hasn't eaten for days; his sides are sunken, and his back is a sharp ridge. He sits quietly and stiffly with his head extended, moving only to walk gingerly to the litterbox and back. He hasn't slept, except for the few minutes on my lap last night.

-----
Update: He has been hospitalized.

-----
Another update: It is most likely advanced congestive heart failure; this is what I expect to hear from the veterinarian. I want to hit something, yell out, but I sit quietly, stiffly. Waiting.

Sick Cats

2006-11-23T08:39:00.000-08:00

On Tuesday, I took Princess Monocle to the vet for routine blood work. Her blood glucose was well above 500 mg/dL, and I wondered how she could still be conscious. I watch her more closely now, and see what I chose not to before. She cannot jump easily. She lays her body down slowly, in stages.

My little one-eyed friend is getting old.

We knew it, of course. What never occurred to me was that the big cat, AKA Rufus, is also a senior kitty. I inherited him as a young cat, and he's always been the same in my eyes: a big baby.

Yesterday, I scooped him from the back corner of a closet. He accepted the cat carrier and the drive to the doctor silently, without protest. Chest x-rays showed fluid in his lungs. We'll be going in again tomorrow morning for a heart ultrasound.

I am upset. I want to find humor in the adventure of trying to administer multiple medications to the cats, or in the vision of them as crotchety old farts who tolerate, but grumble about, each other, but I can't right now.

As I type this, my husband goes to retrieve our daughter from the room where she is making a variety of grunts and rooster noises. "Is this a bedroom or a barnyard?" I hear him ask, and I laugh.

Gratitude

2006-11-22T21:01:00.000-08:00

Gratitude is not only the greatest of virtues, but the parent of all others.

-Cicero

Too Much

2006-11-22T11:36:00.000-08:00

I've acquired a phobia. It appeared some time after I gave birth. No. Just as I went into labor. That was the first time. I don't know what it's called, but I know what it feels like. It feels like I am losing my mind. It feels like a nightmare.

The smallest scratch or swelling has the capacity to send me into a full panic. I imagine losing half of my face. I see and feel every procedure that will be done to me in the ER. I project onto my husband and daughter when I see a little red spot.

What is wrong with me?

I spent years wading through blood, looking at the human body opened and splayed, seeing the diseased and the damaged. I was cool and unaffected, for the most part. I thought I was. Now, the knowledge and memories hit me all in one blow, each time.

When my daughter fractured her skull two months ago, I helped to restrain her as they tried, and tried, and tried to place an IV. Cold, cold, but inside I felt horror. I thought I would vomit.

The thought of mortality strikes me more often lately; I've written of it here several times. I think of my mother. I see my fragile little girl, my cherished husband. An upsetting illness was discovered in our little cat yesterday, and today our big cat sits curled up in a chair, mouth open, slowly panting, refusing food. I cannot ease his discomfort. I do not understand his discomfort.

Unbeautiful post. I was, at one time, not allowed to express "morbid" thoughts. Can I purge them this way?

Consider this a qualified apology. There is more coming: Saturday's unfinished post.

Tribute

2006-11-21T19:58:00.000-08:00

Art

2006-11-20T18:02:00.000-08:00

I'd be an artist, they said, or a writer. I looked at things intensely, felt them, and recorded them. I composed, but everything that came from my hand was agonized over. Imperfections glared back at me. Assigned projects exacerbated this, and I went through real mental anguish. Slowly, I froze it out. My writing shrunk to private journals and assigned essays. My art disappeared.

The universe has a very natural way of throwing lessons at you until you learn them, not because they have been selected for you, but because you have selected them. I am learning imperfection and acceptance. This is my mountain, and my root.

Several artists have recently meandered their way into my sphere. Or, well, perhaps it would be more accurate to say that I've managed to snag several artists out of the swirling masses. It was entirely unintentional. The consequences are profound: I find myself willing to play again. It is easier this time around. I am a little older, a little wiser, a little more able to throw it all to the wind. There are no rules. There never were.

Beautiful thing added: rediscovering old joys.

Paper Cuts

2006-11-17T16:07:00.000-08:00

Astonishing images of paper transformed:

Su Blackwell - Samples of her work include Wild Flowers, Magnolia, The Quiet American, and (though not paper, I couldn't resist) While you were Sleeping.

Peter Callesen - I'm unable to link to specific pages or images on his site, but be sure to check out the framed and unframed A4 cuts, as well as his large scale work.

I've run across other artists over the years, but never bookmarked them, and time is short tonight. These come to you courtesy of Ask MetaFilter.

One Word Meme

2006-11-16T17:08:00.000-08:00

Via Zhoen at - ahem - One Word

1. Yourself:
tired

2. Your spouse
wonderful

3. Your hair?
unwashed

4. Your mother?
warm

5. Your Father:
turmoil

6. Your Favorite Item:
many

7. Your dream last night:
people

8. Your Favorite drink:
water

9. Your Dream Car:
practical

10. The room you are in:
cluttered

11. Your Ex:
mediocre

12. Your fear:
impotence

13. What you want to be in 10 years:
balanced

14. Who you hung out with last night?
love

15. What You're Not?
perfect

16. Muffins:
sugary

17: One of Your Wish List Items:
money

18: Time:
slippery

19. The Last Thing You Did:
wrote

20. What You Are Wearing:
soft

21. Your Favorite Weather:
spring

22. Your Favorite Book:
profound

23. The Last Thing You Ate:
toast

24. Your Life:
opportunity

25. Your Mood:
anxious

26. Your best friend
faceted

27. What are you thinking about right now?
failure

28. Your car:
beat

29. What are you doing at the moment?
worrying

30. Your summer:
hell

31. Your relationship status:
solid

32. What is on your tv?
none

33. What is the weather like?
SoCal

34. When is the last time you laughed?
morning

Transition

2006-11-16T14:56:00.000-08:00

Feel Free to Take This Completely Out of Context

2006-11-15T16:50:00.000-08:00

Ask, and it shall be given to you. Seek, and ye shall find. Knock, and it shall be opened to you.

-Bible, Matthew 7:7

Getting Through It

2006-11-13T15:54:00.000-08:00

We (Plum, the cats, and I) are having a Survive The Day day. The laundry isn't folded. The litter box hasn't been changed. The counters are a mess, and the bottles aren't washed. I haven't checked the mail, showered, responded to email, contacted the landlord, contacted the billing department at the hospital, picked up after myself, taken either of my two walks, or exercised.

I have: fed Plum, fed the cats, fed myself, gotten several giggles out of Plum, giggled at Plum, brushed the cats, medicated Princess Monocle, written two short posts, eaten several spoonfuls of Chocolate Hazelnut Merlot Fudge, and gotten us all through the day fully intact.

Beautiful Thing added: surviving a difficult day.

The Story

2006-11-13T09:06:00.000-08:00

The story of AKA Princess Monocle, according to Husband, who will be known as C from here on out, since he won't pick his own pseudonym:

It was a (nearly) dark, (almost) rainy, (frigidly cold) night. Several friends hopped into a car to go see a movie. As they passed through an intersection, C spotted something in the turn lane of the cross-street. He told his friend to turn the car around for another look. Is that a cat? Is it a glove? A hat? He asked his friend to turn around again, and was still unsure. Again, he asked, and got kicked out of the car, instead. It was a tiny kitten, dying. Half of it's head was messed up and oozing. C presumed that it had crawled out into the road to find vestiges of warmth remaining from the day. He scooped it up and took it home.

At the veterinary hospital, he discovered that the feral kitten had not been hit by a car, but had a very bad eye infection. Her eye was removed. C took her home and nursed her back to health by gently restraining her in a towel, holding her feet-up against his chest, and feeding her with an eye dropper. It was the beginning of a long, quiet, respectful relationship.

For the story of my own relationship with Princess Monocle, go here. For gratuitous kitty images, go here.

Spurred by this entry, and the ensuing comments.

A House in the Country: Dreams

2006-11-12T02:55:00.000-08:00

A certain house has played a prominent part in my life. I have recurring dreams about it. The shape changes. Sometimes there are extra rooms or floors, and secret passages and walled-off sections show themselves. Sometimes it is crumbling apart, so that every step is dangerous. I am often finding lost treasures and things of beauty in one particular space. More often, I am redesigning the whole thing.

Tonight, it collapsed.

Will I see it again?

Odd Music

2006-11-10T19:24:00.000-08:00

Intrigued by the thought of a beer bottle organ, a 38-string bass, or singing stones? Visit the Odd Music Gallery for a sampling of some unusual instruments and their sounds.

-----
Completely unrelated: Why, why would they make an antibiotic for cats that smells exactly like bubble gum?

Blooming

2006-11-09T21:53:00.000-08:00

I realized today that, for the first time, I feel like all that hell - months in bed, relentless nausea, excruciating pain and crutches, diabetes management, thrice-weekly clinic visits, the frightening and agonizing labor and delivery, and (the one that topped them all combined) postpartum depression - all that hell was worth bringing my beautiful daughter into the world and into our lives. It's a little like falling in love; it takes my breath away, sticks in my throat.

Published

2006-11-08T16:29:00.000-08:00

Qarrtsiluni has published one of my pieces. If I'd given it more than a second's thought, I'd never have submitted it. As it was, I dumped out a few words, pasted a photograph, and hit "Send". Instead of thinking I'd written something worthwhile when it was posted in its entirety, I found myself wondering about the editors. How true to form.

Many thanks go out to them for accepting my humble offering.

Mystery

2006-11-08T07:43:00.000-08:00

The true mystery of the world is the visible, not the invisible.

-Oscar Wilde

Alien Landscapes

2006-11-06T14:14:00.000-08:00

I've been looking at things around me a little more closely these days. I think this is an inevitable result of having a brand new human around, but that almost applies more to experiences than to tiny details. No, it's the photography that's got me squinting at the most mundane things, searching for contrast, paying attention to light and shadow. Everything becomes beautiful, looked at closely enough. What would photomicrography be like?

Beautiful Thing added: looking at the world through new eyes.

Grandiose Plans

2006-11-06T09:27:00.000-08:00

1. I've taken up photography. (This is a surprising exercise in un-self-consciousness, which reveals something about me that I'd rather it not). Macro photography, specifically, is what catches my imagination. I haven't had much luck yet, but I have learned that my composition is decent for now, and that I need to work on the mechanical aspects. After that, I'll look at processing.

2. I've taken up self-discipline. For the month of November, I'll be going through Moira Boot Camp. This mostly consists of scheduled days: maps I must follow even if I "don't feel like it". An unfortunate side-effect of depression is that, not only do you avoid to-do's, you also avoid the things you enjoy. I've actually written in creativity/fun time. Boot Camp has been exhausting so far, but uplifting.

3. I've taken up a blogging plan. This was inspired by Zhoen and Patry Francis. What this means is that I must post regardless of how foggy, tired, or uninspired I feel. The outcome, of course, will be a lot of posts laden with grammatical errors and muddy style (e.g., this post). It means that I'll be writing, however, and that is a good and needful thing.

The general plan:

Monday: a Beautiful Thing added, and the story/observation behind it,
Wednesday: a quote,
Thursday: a photo, taken by me,
Friday: a link,
Saturday/Sunday: an anything post.

As you see, it is Saturday today.

Fantastic

2006-11-03T13:55:00.000-08:00

Philippe Guillerm turns wood into surreal works of art. Many of his pieces are based on musical instruments, and all are heavy on organic form. Go. Visit. You'll be blown away.

via MetaFilter

The Walk

2006-11-02T16:19:00.000-08:00

I've worked my way up to the second bus stop. Pain and atrophy make this modest distance a bit of a challenge. Most days, I succeed. To be fair, it's a bit of an incline, and I'm pushing a heavy stroller.

We Shall Enjoy It

2006-11-01T08:00:00.000-08:00

We shall enjoy it. As for him who finds fault, may silliness and sorrow take him!"

-Sappho, translation by Mary Barnard

As Promised

2006-10-30T22:20:00.000-08:00

One for each of us (I took the liberty of carving - and drilling - Plum's and the two cats'. [Husband] did his own.)

Hands

2006-10-30T21:52:00.000-08:00

It is 3 a.m., and I am feeding Plum. Soft sounds drift up as she swallows and breathes, swallows and breathes. Her soft fingers wander along my arm, skim across my hand, and travel back down again. It is dark, quiet, calm.

Beautiful Thing added: Soft, tiny fingertips gently exploring my own.

Mess

2006-10-28T19:28:00.000-07:00

There is a sort of illicit satisfaction in making a mess. I always hesitate going in: hands get washed every few seconds, tools are rinsed and placed in neat piles, and remainders get thrown piece by tiny piece into the garbage. Before long, however, saturation point is reached, and precipitate follows. There was precipitate today: all over my hands, in the sinks, on the counters, in bowls, up the handles of knives and spoons, in, on, and around the trash can, and eventually all down my front. The messier things got, the more I relaxed. It's a throwback to mud pies, you see.

The result of all this detritus? Two carved pumpkins. There are at least three more coming, plus one watermelon. I'll post pictures when the whole collection is done. Power tools will be involved for the next ones.

Lots of Robots

2006-10-27T19:57:00.000-07:00

LOR is a wonderfully clever - if slightly disturbing - series of animations done independently by Andy Murdock. The eventual goal is to combine them into one full-length feature film. Watch "Complete Volume Two" to see the first three segments combined.
-----
Edited 10/27/06

On Postpartum Depression

2006-10-07T18:45:00.000-07:00

"When I get too wrapped up in wanting approval, which is what usually keeps me from posting, I find it helpful to deliberately set out to write something I think my readers won't like."

"Just post a damn rant, dammit."

I don't dwell on it. I don't even allow myself to think about it. Determinedly optimistic, decidedly upbeat - I've no desire to bog myself and others down in misery, to court darkness. Nobody has a clue, other than my husband and, to the degree possible, my closest friend. When informed (warned?), our new Mary Poppins (the perfect nanny we cannot afford, but hired anyway) responded with, "But you're so happy!"

More often the last few months, I find myself seeing things in a different light. The awe and splendor and absolute beauty of life twist and distort, and I see ugliness and messiness and pain. It is nightmarish. It keeps me up at three in the morning, terrified to continue living, terrified to die.

There are women out there who fall into deep depression after giving birth. There are women out there who do not enjoy being a mother. There are women out there who do not love their babies. There are women out there who think of hurting themselves, or their babies, or both, and it's more women than you think. There is no quantifying the damage this does to the woman, the child, and the family.

I did not love Plum immediately. Oh, I fierced her, for lack of a better term. I would have died for her. But I did not love her. I was, in fact, terrified of her. Every whimper sent me into a full panic; I was constantly in tears, constantly shaking and hyperventilating. The first few weeks, my husband and mom brought her to me to breastfeed her, then took her away. It took gradual acclimation and a great deal of time to learn how to be with my daughter. I took notes, to have something to refer to. I wanted to take back my decision to be a mother. I wanted her to go away. I wanted to go away. I cannot count the number of times I stood on the edge of that decision - to leave, one way or another, to take myself out of that living hell. That Plum had, and has, a sensitive temperament (including colic), that we had no support from family outside of a brief visit from my mom and another from my sister-in-law, and that I desperately wanted to do the very best I was capable of (perfection, of course) did not help. When my husband returned to work after three weeks, I felt lost and completely alone.

I was still on crutches and unable to carry her. I was also determined to avoid medications while breastfeeding. This meant that the usual course of intervention was not an option, and that I would need to fight off the postpartum depression with what little exercise I could accomplish, healthy eating habits, and self-directed cognitive/behavioral therapy. This failed.

In my journal was a brief list of guidelines for when to get help, written because I knew that when I reached the point where I needed medical intervention, I would not necessarily be capable of thinking rationally. The threshold was reached, the decision made by my earlier, more capable self. I got myself on meds and weaned Plum in days.

There were respites, in all of this. There were times I would look at her and cry for the intensity of love I (finally) felt, and for the perfection of her little body and innocence of spirit. There were easier days when I felt marginally competent as a mother.

Every day is a struggle. You won't know it, if you know me. I'll smile and joke with you. I'll play with and laugh at my daughter. I'll keep the house clean, take walks, go shopping, decorate. There's a little more beer in the fridge, more bottles in the trash, but not enough to cause any kind of alarm. You won't see me sobbing and rocking, walking away from a screaming Plum because the alternative is so very much worse. You won't be aware of that tight, dark knot I carry inside of me, packed tightly away. You won't know that it takes everything I have just to survive, hour by hour, day by day.

I act as I prefer myself to act; I act based on the strength, serenity, and happiness I do not feel.

-----

I'm pretty sure I don't love my baby. (Ask MetaFilter) *Edit: the question linked was not written by me.

Dormant

2006-09-20T22:35:00.000-07:00

. . . And then I disappear. There are a couple of corrections I've been meaning to make (for, ahem, a while now) in previous posts. For the first, I mistakenly listed Squirrel Nut Zippers as the singers of "You and Me and a Bottle Makes Three." Squirrel Nut Zippers rock. Or something equally as good. But it is Big Bad Voodoo Daddy who wrote that particular song. The second mistake was my assertion that bone is denser and stronger where it breaks. It is indeed denser, but it is also, in fact, weaker.

I am here. I am. I've got at least three posts partially composed in my head, one of which leads to a small series. Why don't I publish them? Good question. I am channelling the periodic cicada, perhaps?

No Holds Barred

2006-08-20T20:03:00.000-07:00

I read the words of others, and I am humbled. There is such depth of thought and expression; it truly is art. Who am I to put my own words out into the open? Uneducated, lacking eloquence, how can I presume? These little blurbs are very simple in their theme: they are overflow. My writing is, and always has been, what leaks at the seams. Simple, inconsequential blurbs contain drops from the whole of my joy or pain. When I am silent, it is because there is no directing the flood.

But I have been curled up on myself for so Iong. Does everybody do this? How can they live this way? I am determined to put aside fear, shame, mortification. The world and everyone in it may think what they will. I shall add a new shape to the universe, however odd or small.

Thus I define Blue Abstractions once again, for myself: a personal journal and outlet of whatever words happen to drop out. Higher expectations will find their own release in another place. They strangle me here.

Learning Curve

2006-08-20T17:44:00.000-07:00

Poor wee Plum is learning to suck her thumb. Unfortunately, she is lacking in fine motor skills, and the result is much eye-poking and gagging. Her little hand jerks away, then compulsively returns. Frustration ensues. And what am I to do? I can only wait patiently. This is the beginning, I see. This is my lesson, to be repeated over and over again: how to let go, allowing Plum her own space to learn and grow.

Tattooed

2006-08-20T04:49:00.000-07:00

I've often felt the desire to mark myself, to permanently press into my skin a symbol expressing some small facet of my psyche, my soul, my experience. Years were passed searching - sometimes consciously; most often passively - for a shape that held meaning to me. It never presented itself. It never needed to.

"...stretch marks like flames climbing my abdomen..." I am branded, and I cannot think of a better representation of this last year's trial by fire; less obviously, of earlier years survived. A broken bone is denser and stronger where it mends. There is nothing of shame or disgust for these scars. I embrace them.

-----
Correction: bone is denser where it mends, but not stronger. I'm not sure I like the analogy.

Number One

2006-08-14T20:57:00.000-07:00

I am apparently the top page rank for the search term "blue butt frogs." And who could resist hitting the site when the portion quoted reads, "The butt frog story is exactly why I refute your claim to being a perfectionist..."? This has got to be my all-time favorite search term yet.

If you're dying of curiosity, scroll down to the comment section on this post.

Meme

2006-08-12T18:55:00.000-07:00

Via Zhoen

Shall I be ruthless?

10 years ago
At 20, I was working weekend days and nights as a PBX operator at one hospital, training and working weekdays (weeknights, too, for homework) as a surgical tech at another, and shoveling snow at the apartment complex where I lived with my sister and her new baby. Yes, all at the same time, and I still struggled to pay the bills. Lunch was often taken from what was stocked in the kitchen at work: reconstituted broth and saltines, Oreo cookies. I was also in (and out of) an on-again-off-again-for-several-years relationship, messing around with a married man inbetween times, and doing plenty of flirting (and sometimes more) with other men. I made a good effort at being a drunk, but failed miserably. This may also be the year I landed in the hospital psych ward for three days. It was my first year on my own.

5 years ago
At 25, I was living quietly on my own and continuing work as a surgical tech. After one particularly long shift which encompassed a day, a night, and another day, I fell in a stairwell and broke my dominant (left) arm. I ended the long-dead, tumultuous relationship, met and eventually corresponded with a man who made a most breathtaking impression on me, and moved across several hundred miles to be with him. This was the year I felt I'd truly begun to settle into myself.

1 year ago
I had recently quit my job and dedicated my time to being a full-time student in pursuit of a degree in speech/language pathology. I was (and am) happily married to that breathtakingly wonderful man. It was also the year I miscarried, blogged about it, sent the entry into oblivion, and tried to convince myself that I wasn't feeling grief. A few months later, I conceived again. This one was for keeps.

5 songs I know all the words to
'Til I Gain Control Again, This Mortal Coil
Isobel, Bjork
You And Me And The Bottle Makes Three, Big Bad Voodoo Daddy
Moonshadow, Cat Stevens
California Dreamin', Mamas and Papas (I must relate: 18 or 19 years old, hiking around a lake with a friend, singing this song at the top our lungs - with zeal, I tell you - we stumble onto a couple of guys sitting down. Mortified, we continue on in silence, giggles occasionally breaking the surface.)

5 Snacks
Fruit with a honeyed yogurt dip (extra stars if it's a breakfast with mimosas)
Almonds and a nectarine
Wheat Thins
Cheeeese, Gromit
7-layer dip with homemade pico de gallo and guacamole

5 things to I'd do with £100 million
Invest
Set up an account for our families and adopted families
Buy land, build a home, and start a vineyard
Travel
Eat out all the time at really good restaurants

5 places I'd run away to
The mountains, or a river, or a deserted beach
Barcelona, Spain
Ireland
Napa Valley, California
Home

5 things I'd never wear
(This particular category took significant effort from both me and my husband.)
A "Vote Bush/Cheney '04" t-shirt
A thong swimsuit (in public)
Heavy gold chains
A nipple ring
A mustache (probably)

5 favourite TV shows
(If you notice this differs from a previous meme, it is because 1) We don't actually own a TV, and I am going by whatever I remember or have most recently run across, and 2) I have a difficult time choosing favorites of anything.)
Firefly
Black Adder
The Tick (Live Action)
Columbo
NewsRadio

5 greatest joys
My husband
My daughter
My closest friend
Words
Music

5 favourite toys
The internet
Graphics programs
Pencil and paper
Food
The big cat (Please do not infer from this that I do not love and respect him, and consider him my little companion. He's just so damn fun.)

Goodness, am I done?

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Edited 9/20/06 to correct an error (I listed Squirrel Nut Zippers as the originators of "You and Me and the Bottle Make Three," when it is Big Bad Voodoo Daddy who wrote the song.